A moment that passes
by vigilantism
Summary: He finds the scissors on the desk, and there are still flecks of blood on the handles. He hesitates a second before picking them up. Are these the same scissors that killed Daisy Fitzroy, or were her hands just bloody when she picked them up? He can't tell, and he's not sure he really wants to know the answer.


Elizabeth is gone a long time time when they get onto the ship. Booker is pissed off about it at first, but he figures he can't be too mad. She's just a kid, and she's just killed someone. He's not sure Daisy deserved it, and he's not sure she deserved it like _that_. But it doesn't matter. What's done is done, and he sure as hell knows that killing someone will change you – whether they deserved it or not, and whether you meant to or not.

When she re-emerges, she's not covered in blood anymore, thankfully. Seeing her like that was like looking into a nightmare. He can't put his finger on why, but the idea of Elizabeth bleeding like that makes him sick. She's just a girl, just a _job_ , and she's a pain in the ass often as not, but he can't stand the thought of her dying. He especially can't stand the thought of it being his fault, directly or indirectly. He's relieved when she comes out, though he's still shocked by her.

She looks...different. It's not in the clothes or the fact that she chopped her hair off. It's in her face, in her eyes.

She's just a kid. She doesn't deserve the hell he rained down on her. She doesn't deserve to be locked in a tower and brainwashed, either. Whether he's the lesser of two evils or not, he doesn't know, but he's glad enough to see her, changed or not, that he reaches for her.

"Hair's uneven," he says, knowing she doesn't want him trying to coddle her after what happened. He can read that in the set of her shoulders, the way she purses her lips and looks at him defiantly. It's a challenge, he knows; she's practically daring him to start something so she can argue about it. He doesn't rise to the bait.

Her eyebrows furrow in annoyance, and she's Elizabeth again, an irritated kid judging him for judging her.

"I can't see the back of my own head," she says, defensively.

He doesn't smile, but he thinks about it.

"Come on," he says, taking her hand before she can protest or fight him, and leading her back the way she came.

The room is a mess, but he lets it go. He finds the scissors on the desk, and there are still flecks of blood on the handles. He hesitates a second before picking them up. Are these the same scissors that killed Daisy Fitzroy, or were her hands just bloody when she picked them up? He can't tell, and he's not sure he really wants to know the answer. He's not even sure Elizabeth would tell him.

He picks the scissors up anyway. What does he care if they killed someone? His _hands_ are dirtier than those blades are, after all. Anyway, it's not like he can fix her hair with a pocket knife.

"Turn around," he tells her.

She stares at him for a moment, uncomprehending, before it dawns on her what he's saying. She's still in shock, he figures, though she has her brave face on. He loves her a little for that, because he doesn't know what to do if she falls apart entirely. They've got to get out of this god forsaken city before either of them can afford to do that. For a girl who spent her childhood locked in a tower, she's got steel in her. He loves her for that, too.

She finally turns around, and he straightens out her uneven hair. His fingertips brush her neck, and he can feel the necklace she's still wearing there. They'd gotten that from the Luteces, whose game he still didn't understand. He doesn't ask her why she still wears it. He's grateful that there's still something between them, even here. He already touches her too much, grabbing her and pulling her back from the edges, holding her against him as they take the skyrail somewhere else. This is one more point of contact they don't need.

He does it again anyway on purpose.

He turns her around and examines her, more for some signs of further trauma than to see if her hair is straight. It is, though. It mostly was in the front, anyway. Now he doesn't have any excuse to touch her again, so he just stands there and looks at her and swears to a god he doesn't believe in that he'll keep her safe somehow. He'll kill a thousand Daisy Fitzroys to keep from having to see her kill even one more. He's a thug and he knows it, and she's just a girl who wants to see Paris.

No. She's more than that.

Her fingers brush his without him realizing it. There's a moment when he won't let the scissors go, and she has to gently pry his fingers open with her other hand.

"Thank you," she says, though whether she's talking about the haircut or him giving up the scissors or something else entirely, he can't say.

He waves a hand and makes himself turn away from her.

"Couldn't let you go out in that pretty new dress with a funny haircut, could I?"

When he gets to the door he looks back. There's a moment of deja vu, seeing her standing there holding the scissors, looking lost.

But she puts them on the desk again, and the moment passes, and he can go back to worrying about how bad he's fucking up her life silently. And she can go back to...wherever it is she goes when her eyes unfocus, like she's seeing some other world that he can't. Hell, maybe she is.

Maybe she'll see a better one than he can give her, in the end. Til then, he still swears he'll keep her safe. He can't keep her entirely clean, but he _will_ keep her safe. Somehow.


End file.
